Edward & Me

by: Starskysea

My whole body was a bundle of nerves as I stood at my locker, turning the dial with shaking fingers and glancing around as if I expected to be pounced upon any minute. I had to admit it, I was excited. It had started with a slight feeling of febrility as I got out of bed this morning, and had escalated all throughout breakfast and the subsequent bus ride to school. My heart was already beating hard as I walked up the big stone steps and through the corridors, scanning the aisle as I went for a sight of them. My cheeks felt hot while I was gathering my books—dear god, why had keeping calm been so much easier yesterday after my enlightened decision to simply accept what had been happening? There was nothing more annoying than this ridiculous feeling of exhilaration that just wouldn't die down. Calm down, you idiot. Calm down!

I leaned against my locker, pitching my head backwards with my eyes closed, concentrating on breathing. I had the 'breathe in, pause, breathe out' part nearly down when a sharp blow on my head made me start and let out a shriek.

"Wake up, sleepyhead" Danica grinned at me as I clutched my chest, eyes dilated in shock.

"DANICA!" I gasped, tears nearly streaming down my cheeks. Maybe it was the fright, or my general state that morning, but I was on edge emotionally. Receiving blows was not something I felt like I could handle just at that very moment.

"Hey…hey…"my friend whispered soothingly. "I'm not gonna eat you, you know. Unlike someone…" I tried to stifle a giggle bordering on hyperventilation.

"Yeah, can't be too careful these days, or people might just mistake you for food..." It felt good, this innocuous banter. Helped me stay grounded in ways nothing else could.

"What do you have now, anyway?" she inquired.

I dug around in my backpack to find my timetable, which I never was able to memorize. "Gym", I sighed, dropping the piles of notebooks I had been gathering in favor of the bag which, on good days, contained my gym clothes, and on bad days contained week-old remains of my lunch.

I wasn't especially bad at gym, though I wasn't outstandingly good either. I spent most lessons camping out subtly on the bench, reading a book or chatting with friends who were equally reticent to get out on the field and play whatever team sport the teacher had thought up that day. I only really participated when we got to play badminton: there was something hypnotic about the swish of the birdie flying through the air in a graceful arc, its satisfying thunk as it hit the racket and got propelled, back and forth across the field. Today wasn't a badminton day, I assessed with regret as I sprinted towards my usual corner, trying not to get noticed by the bellowing teacher. Some boys had gotten out basketballs and were throwing them around rather violently before the coach had even made teams. Groaning loudly, I settled down not far from Sam, trying to make myself small and inconspicuous to avoid as much of the torture as possible. I wasn't left by myself long enough to brood though, because Sam pinched my arm and pointed at the door, through which none other than Edward had just passed.

I must have looked pretty shocked, because as his gaze reached me, he smirked and turned his head away elegantly. No—his head wasn't the only elegant thing about him. There was the white t-shirt exposing just the right amount of muscular forearm to make every girl in the room drool noticeably, the knee-length navy blue sports shorts showing off perfectly shaped calves, the slightly tousled hair that hinted at clothes having been pulled over his head in the act of undressing, and a heavenly scowl that looked just the right amount annoyed but still approachable. He nodded at our teacher, who did a double take on this no doubt athletic new student, then sauntered off to sit on one of the empty benches, unaffected by all the attention he was getting.

I couldn't tear my eyes off him. Ever since he had looked at me—and I was the only person he had made eye contact with, I was sure of it!—my blood had been coursing, if possible, even faster through my veins. Much to my dismay, a nagging voice in the back of my head kept reminding me that blood was not a matter I should take lightly anymore. He looked astonishing, yet astonishingly normal: had the Cullen's innate human repellant dissipated since they had left the pages of Twilight to come haunt my little urban existence, or were they just more adept at blending in, I wondered as I saw a flock of guys crowd around him, vying for attention. I gaped as I saw him distribute a couple of polite high fives and thumbs up, still wearing that untroubled air that could only come from being vastly superior to everyone else.

Somebody threw a ball at or towards him: he caught it easily, long pale hand flashing up and accommodating the round object in his palm, cradling it delicate as if it hadn't been hurtling towards him at a high speed only seconds earlier. Some guys whooped, girls gaped with, if possible, even more drool trickling down their sagging chins. Quickly, I wiped away the moisture forming at a corner of my mouth, shaking my head slightly to clear the blush from my cheeks. I would NEVER survive this lesson.

I wasn't on his team, and the thought filled me with an incomprehensible jumble of relief and disappointment, so tightly knotted together I gave up on trying to figure out which one I felt the most. It had its pros and cons, but I suppose it would have made little difference, because failing at watching me from a teammate's vantage point, he observed me from the sidelines. Even though there was no noticeable sign of it, I could feel his gaze follow me around the court, trained on my back like twin golden spotlights. I would have glared back into those eyes if I could, but every time I sneaked a peek at him, he was answering someone's eager questions, making smooth passes to people around him or leaning against the wall, eyes closed, face so smooth it might have been made of stone, with nothing hinting at the fact that he had in any way been following my movements. And then, playing against him…

It was like dancing with a leopard: the whole game centered around him, as if every player shifted imperceptibly to accommodate his presence. He was like a black hole, curbing everyone's awareness towards him until we all flowed in rhythm with some great, swirling, almost hypnotical pattern. Sometimes, he moved in slow motion, big, loping movements swinging the ball around every obstacle with infinitesimal grace. Sometimes, he was a white and bronze dash, a tremor in the air and the swish of the ball flying through the basket, barely displacing the net so precise was its trajectory. Each of his motions sang victory.

When he played, it was like he was focused on nothing other than the game. In fact, it was the only time I got any respite from his eyes, and the neglect stung. Yet there were instants where, rooted to the spot, unable to do anything to seize the ball for my team, I watched him dribble past me, a glowing creature of power and light, and I could feel his eyes tear away from the ball to wink at me, all that focus and intensity dissolving for the one second where he showed me that this was nothing, nothing at all, that he wasn't even thinking about the ball or the game or the classroom, and I wondered, befuddled, what he was thinking about, and whether the show he was putting on was premeditated or just something natural his body did without his mind even having to notice it.

And so, without even having to move around that much, by the end of the class I was breathless, emotionally drained, barely able to move, my limbs aching with a fatigue deeper than flesh and bone. I sagged into a seat in math class, trying to keep my gaze on the teacher through heavy-lidded eyes. The lesson on tangents and sinuses was completely lost on me, so I didn't quite understand what happened when a girl came up to me and asked for help with a math problem.

At first, I just heard a voice, and it pulled me out of my somnolence if only because it was the loveliest thing to have caressed my ears. It took effort, but I managed to turn my head in its direction, seizing the words with a part of my brain I didn't know was functional just then. The rest of me basked inconspicuously for a few seconds, and then I willed my eyes open to see the person standing over me. Jet black hair surrounded a pixie-like face on which every feature breathed beauty. Slim pale fingers held a sheet with math problems. The angelic mouth was still moving. Alice Cullen. Dear god.

Strange as it appears, the first thought that came to my mind was why Alice Cullen would be asking me for help with math. She knew this already. All of this, trig, class, school, was like 2+2=4 to her. She didn't need me.

Remained the only possible explanation: this was an excuse to approach me. Find out more about me, what I knew, why I did what I did—more precisely, the quirk that made my brain so impenetrable for Edward's power. My heart beat a bit faster. This wasn't messages snuck across a desk, or movements in a basketball game. This was a conversation. The real thing.

"So, you want…help?" I choked out, trying to keep my voice neutrally pleasant despite my throat being as dry as a sandy cave.

"If you could just explain this number…" she said, and the sweetness of her voice almost pulled me under again. I shook my head, trying to focus on the paper before me. I knew this. This was theory from the last lesson.

"You have to calculate this angle first, then figure out the length of this side with the formula on the blackboard" I explained faintly, pointing at the appropriate places on the sheet. Her magnetic presence humbled me: I couldn't look into her eyes. I had enough trouble as it was just breathing.

"Thank you so much!" she gushed, all politeness. I watched her pull a chair out and sit opposite to me, elbows on the desk, hands clasped under her chin. She gazed at me pensively.

"Me and my brother are new here…" she started, scrutinizing my face as if the rest of her story was graved on my forehead. "We don't really know the building, or the people."

"You seem to get around just fine." I remarked. I was getting used to her impressive aura; found that I could think more clearly despite having her voice ring like silver bells every time I wasn't saying something.

"Do you think you would mind helping us get better acquainted with this place?" Everything about her was pure innocence. She pleaded like a pro, and I almost fell for it. Almost.

"Is that…wise?" I questioned. It was my turn to search her face. Our eyes met. Sparks of understanding crossed the distance between us. The air tingled with electricity.

I heard her sigh, and she turned her head away first. Her reply was the first thing that sounded like herself, and not a cheerful façade.

"I'm not sure." She answered, gazing into the distance. "But I think we could all profit from careful acquaintance." She said it more to herself than anyone else, probably not expecting me to catch her meaning. I don't know what she was thinking, either of my (more or less) calm attitude or of my intriguing question. But I was sure she didn't suspect, at least yet, my superior knowledge in regard to her and her family's true identity. And if I did accept to, quite innocently, 'show them around', I could spend time with her and Edward, enter that mysterious world more completely and entirely than I could ever have dreamed of. Tentatively, I opened my mouth to pronounce the words that would send my whole universe upside down:

"Okay."